


A Fake Badge a Day Keeps the Blues Away

by sophoklesworld



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophoklesworld/pseuds/sophoklesworld
Summary: "Three badges. One for Cas, too."***Remember the scene where Cas first uses his FBI badge, like a dork?A badge that Dean gives to him right before? A badge that Dean must have carried with him fora while?This is a story about how Dean made said badge.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	A Fake Badge a Day Keeps the Blues Away

**Author's Note:**

> So I just realized yesterday, how Dean must've carried that badge around with him for God knows how long. And how he's probably been staring at Cas' picture whenever he was yearning and thought Sam wasn't looking.
> 
> I gave myself feels thinking about this, so why not make you think about it, too? 
> 
> Enjoy, and feel free to leave comments!

The decision hadn’t been conscious. Okay, that wasn't true. Well it was.

He was thinking about potential names for their new fake FBI badges, and for the supplies he’d need to forge them.   
The thought of getting a badge for Cas, too, snuck up on him. It wasn’t a consciously cultivated idea. It was just suddenly there, a heat of the moment thing.

The decision of actually forging a badge for him? That was a conscious thing. It took effort. He’s mulled it over for weeks. He made pro and contra lists ( _lists_ — plural!).

They ranged from 'he’d probably let slip that he’s an angel' and 'his "people skills" are still "rusty"' on the contra side to 'he can see in people’s brains' and 'maybe he’d learn something and I’d have the time of my life' on the pro side, completely neglecting Dean’s inner voice 'it would mean he’d stay'.

Mostly, he tried to talk himself into not forging a badge for Cas, and he tried to tell himself it was because he’d never need it, anyway. Tried to pretend he just didn’t want to get his hopes up, that Cas may actually stick around long enough to use it at one point, because those hopes were dangerous and — knowing his life — would not come to fruition. 

But, ridiculously, after days of contemplation and careful consideration, it came down to his mouth being faster than his brains — good one, Winchester.

He’d been sitting at the table of a cheap motel room, his tongue peaking out between his lips in concentration, while he was clipping his nails. He tried not to let his mind wander, unsuccessfully. Undecided on a name for Cas’ fake badge as he was, he was currently torn between a X-Files reference and a _Dr Sexy MD_ reference.  
"I’m going to go grab the supplies for the fake badges", Sam said, "two ID plates, two badges from the kids’ store."  
"Three", Dean corrected offhandedly.  
"What?"  
Dean looked up to see his brother look at him with a frown. Confused, Dean played through the half-listened-to conversation and — well shit. No backtracking now, after all it may come in handy. He ignored the warmth in his hammering heart and forged on, "Three badges. One for Cas, too."

Sam looked at him funny which was to be expected, honestly. But Dean refused to let anything show on his face.  
After a moment, Sam just nodded, "Yeah, good idea."  
Without another word, Sam closed the door behind him.

Dean slumped in his chair.

Shit.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like the prospect of Cas having a fake ID. Did Cas have an ID at all? He’s still wearing that damned trench coat, did Jimmy have an ID in there? Has Cas ever been asked by anyone for an ID? Would he even know what to do when asked for an ID? Dean imagines that he’d scrunch up his face in confusion, like he always does when he didn’t understand human things.

Dean shook his head, trying to stop this train of thought. Instead, he focused on what he needed, to properly forge Cas’ badge and ID. Name, an online trail and a photo for the ID. He should probably stick to angel-approved details for the background story. Nothing deviating too much from what Cas has already learned from Dean, so he doesn’t accidentally put his foot (wing?) into his mouth. It’s unlikely to come up in an investigation but still, better to have a story on hand. Seemed like he should settle for a name, too. _What the hell,_ he thinks and decides on Eddie Moscone from Midnight Run — a bail bondsman who is after an accountant. A bit of irony for the holy tax accountant. If no one else, at least Dean could appreciate that.

He wrote down a short draft of three new personas for Sam to scatter in pieces over the internet, make their aliases waterproof, at least superficially.  
With nothing else to do, while waiting for Sam to come back, he busied himself with riffling through his bag, looking for old photos for the IDs. He found a couple of Sam, one of them still kinda baby-faced, which Dean looked at with a fond smile and tucked into his wallet. Having found sufficient pictures of both Sammy and him, Dean drops them onto the table. Cool, now he’d only have to-

His thoughts slowed to a halt. He’d have to get a picture from Cas. A picture _of_ Cas. His stomach got a kick out of that, but he ignored it. He didn’t know how to wrap his head around this. Apart from the fact that he’d be making an ID for a freaking _Angel of the Lord,_ the whole conversation he’d have to go through? He couldn’t imagine it. How would one even do that?

Well, better just get over with it, right? He shuffled through Sam’s bag, where they kept the tiny camera for these instances. That was better than having to drag Cas to one of those instant photo booths at a train station, right? Even though, he could tell Cas to meet him there. _Huh,_ Dean thought with a shrug. _Could be entertaining._

Scribbling a quick message for Sam, Dean found himself driving downtown to the train station. It was a short trip, in a small town like this. He didn’t even care what it was called; just another Arkansas’ town. When he put his baby into a broad space of the parking lot adjacent to the station, doubt was suddenly rising in the back of his mind. Maybe they didn’t have those booths? Well, he was here now, so he’d check it out.  
After a detour to a burger joint (that Sam would need to know nothing about), Dean indeed found a photo booth, flanked between a large billboard and the train departure information.

He looked around; the station was bustling, surprisingly crowded for an early Wednesday afternoon in such a small town. He couldn’t just pray to Cas right then and there. The praying part wasn’t the problem — he had a phone to pretend to be calling in more human ways — but having a disheveled tax accountant appear in their midst out of thin air would definitely cause the attention of the people around him.

Thankfully, the booth was empty and Dean settled inside, sitting on the small bench. Closing his eyes, he began to pray.

"Dear Castiel who art in heaven", Dean grinned to himself, "Hope this isn’t a bad time, buddy. I just need your help for a minute down here, so if you could drop by?"

He didn’t open his eyes, tried to drown out the noise outside, waiting, hoping that Castiel would come.  
Dean felt the tiny shift in air, the low telltale rustle of an arriving angel’s wings. With a satisfied grin, Dean opened his eyes. 

And found himself looking at Castiel’s crotch mere inches from his face.

"Uh", he said unintelligibly. He felt heat rush into his face as he looked up, his eyes traveling over Castiel’s blue tie all the way to his chin. Irritated, Cas looked down at him. His blue eyes were even more striking in the booth’s light, and Dean saw a storm raging right underneath the surface. Like a sea, shattering its waves on a rocky shore, nature against nature. He felt the urge to compare himself to the rocks and Castiel to the sea, a very fitting metaphor, and all the bodily— and nope, he’d stop that thought right there.

Dean mentally cursed himself, because there’s no one but himself to blame for the lack of personal space. He wanted to get up, get out of this confined space, because he didn’t trust himself, didn’t trust his mind. But the angel was practically standing right between Dean’s legs and—

"Cas, would you mind stepping outside for a sec", he effectively cut his thoughts off and gestured to the curtain separating them from the the crowds.

Cas tilted his head, like he didn’t see the purpose in the task, but thankfully took a step to the side, into the curtain and gracing Dean’s leg. Dean was already halfway standing, and together they ended up tumbling through the curtain. Dean laughed it off, ignoring the curious smirks and judging glares they got from passer-by’s. He sent a rueful grin to an older lady with a raised eyebrow and could feel himself blush a very deep red. He gestured at Cas, trying to think of an explanation.

"Dean."  
Any possible excuse Dean could have come up with was derailed by that one simple word. Cas’ voice was so distinct. It always sent a tingle through Dean’s shoulder. Probably because his soul was intimately aware of the proximity to its savior. And wasn’t that just a tad too cheesy for comfort.

"Hey, Cas", Dean smiled, turning to look at his angel again. Did he just think _his_ angel. Okay, something was off with him today. Hopefully this wasn’t the work of the witch they’re currently hunting.   
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

"What is it, Dean?"

"Gee, Cas, good to see you, too."

"Dean." It wasn’t really accusatory but there was an undercurrent of 'get to the point', almost like a warning in Cas' voice. So Dean got to the point — and came up short on how to actually start this conversation. Shit. 

Cas was tilting his head, impatiently. Shit.

"You know what, Cas? Can you just step back in there, it’s easier to just show you."

Now Cas scrunched up his nose, before Dean even said anything that didn’t make sense because it was Human-speech. Great.

"You just told me to step out. What purpose did this have, if I am to get inside that box again, right away?"

Dean didn’t know whether to laugh at the honest confusion or be annoyed that they repeatedly had to have the 'personal space' argument.  
"Cas, it was too small for both of us in there. And i need you to stand in there for a second, so I can get a picture of you, and that doesn’t work when we’re both inside."  
God, he sounded lame. ' _so I can get a picture of you_ ' what.  
"Me ’n Sam are making new IDs. We need photos to go with them."

"I do not see why you would put a photo of me on your identification card."

Dean shook his head. "It’s for an ID for you, buddy."

Cas tilted his head further. "Why? I do not frequent any places that would require identification. And I could get in even without an 'ID’."

Dean chuckled at the air quotes Cas made with his hands. "Humor me."

After a moment of consideration, Cas gave a small nod and turned back to the booth.

"What am I to do?"

"Sit down", Dean gestured to the bench from where he held back the curtain and leaned against the frame of the booth. As usual, Castiel looked like he just put his hand into a socket, his tie askew. That wasn’t gonna cut it for a FBI badge, fake or not, so Dean leaned down to straighten his tie and trench coat collar. Dean considered fixing Cas’ hair, but figured it was a lost cause, anyway and stopped a few millimeters short of touching it.  
"Cool, now look at that camera there, and I’ll feed it some money to take your picture."

Cas obligingly looked at the camera. Dean fed the booth money, and straightened. They waited for a couple of seconds.

"Was that all?", Cas asked, turning his head to Dean, "that was not very exciting."

The flash went off. Cas looked back to the camera in confusion, as the second flash hit.  
"I don’t understand", is what Cas said during the third flash.

Dean sighed, dragging a hand over his face. The booth started to make printing noises.   
"Cas, you gotta wait for the flashes, buddy. We’re gonna try this again, and this time you’ll stay still, until the flashes are done, 'kay?", Dean asked right when the booth spit out Cas' pictures. Castiel took them curiously. For a moment, he just stared in something akin to wonder. Then he turned to Dean, handing over the photos, "Okay, Dean. Let’s do this again."

Cas had turned back to the camera, staring it down with an inhuman stillness. Dean fed the machine more money. While he as waiting for the machine’s countdown, Dean looked at the pictures Cas had handed him. The first showed his profile where he was looking up at Dean from under his lashes. From the second photo, Cas’ reaction to the first flash was discernible in much more detail as it had been from Dean’s vantage point. His nose was scrunched up and that head tilt was captured. In the third picture, the blue eyes were wide and Cas’ mouth formed a slight 'O'. Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He shook himself, as the machine started to print the second set of pictures. He looked up just as Cas turned his face to him, and smiled. Cas stared back.

"Let’s see if those turned out better", Dean said and leaned in front of Cas to grab the photos.

After a short glance, he snorts. The three pictures are identical, safe for the second where Cas’ tongue is peaking out of his mouth like he licked his lips.

"Hey, look, they really capture your essence", Dean says and turns the pictures for Cas to look at.

"They do not, Dean. My essence is far too imposing to be captured by a human machine and for it to go unharmed."

Cas stood and Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, whatever, punk."

"I am not a 'punk', Dean."

Dean snickered. "Alright yeah, you’re right. Thank you", he waved the pictures at Cas.

"It was no problem. I will go now, if you do not require anything else."

With a smile, Dean clapped his hand over Cas’ shoulder, "Alright. Good to see you, don’t be a stranger."

Dean could swear he saw Cas internally fight the urge to argue that he was not a 'stranger'. It was like a war took over his eyes. After a moment, he settled on, "Goodbye, Dean."

"Goodbye, Cas", Dean answered to an empty booth.

He shook his head and considered the pictures in his hands. Two of them were good for a badge. The others weren’t but they were so Cas, that Dean couldn’t bring himself to throw them away. He saw Cas too little as it was. So he tucked the photos into his wallet, right next to Sam’s. He knew he was a sentimental bastard, but who cared. It’s family. As long as Sam didn’t find out about his and Cas’ pictures, he’d be fine. 

* * *

The badge turns out really good and has a solid, traceable background. Dean still doesn’t know if they’ll ever need it. Part of him hopes that will never happen, afraid of the implications. Another part of him believes it’s a necessary precaution. The last part is just glad to hold onto something. Not a promise, but hope, at the very least. A thought. A memory. Despite the betrayal and hurt in light of recent events, he often finds himself staring at the badge, at the pictures in his wallet. A reminder. Caring about family can be cruel but it’s _family_. And he’ll get his family back together. 

* * *

He keeps the badge in his jacket, for weeks, months. He loses count but it is always an additional, comforting weight next to his own badge, like a security blanket. His fingers skim over its outline, sometimes, when he’s playing a Fed, trying to pass as an agent, and it feels like a lucky charm.

He keeps the badge in his jacket. He can’t help but think he may need it someday, and when he does, he’ll be glad to have it.

He keeps the badge in his jacket. Who knows, he might need it. 

Someday.


End file.
